Half A Chance eBook

“Sure, sir, I don’t know whether it’s
breakfast or supper that’s waiting for you.”
Captain Forsythe’s man had reappeared and stood
now at the top of the landing looking in at him.
“It’s a sound sleep you’ve had.”

John Steele glanced at the clock; the afternoon was
waning. Why did not his enemies force their way
in, surround him at once? Unless—­and
this might prove a momentary saving clause!—­these
people without were but an advance guard, an outpost,
awaiting orders. In this event Gillett would
hastily be sent for; would soon be on his way—–­

“’Tis a rasher of real Irish bacon that
is awaiting your convenience, sir.”

The servant was now eying the visitor dubiously; John
Steele wheeled, a perfunctory answer on his lips,
and going to the dining-room swallowed hastily a few
mouthfuls. From where he sat he could command
a view of the front gate, and kept glancing toward
it when alone. To go now,—­or wait?
The daylight did not favor the former course unless
his pursuers should suddenly appear before the locked
gate, demanding admission.

He made up his mind as to his course then, the last
desperate shift. Amid a turmoil of thoughts a
certain letter he had had in mind to send to Captain
Forsythe occurred to him, and calling for paper and
pen, he wrote there, facing the window, feverishly,
hastily, several pages; then he gave the letter to
the servant for the postman, whose special call at
the iron knocker without had just sounded. The
letter would have served John Steele ill had it fallen
into his enemies’ hands, but once in the care
of the royal mails it would be safe. If it were,
indeed, that person at the gate, and not some one—­

“One moment, Dennis!” The man paused.
“Of course you will make sure it is the postman—?”

The servant stared at this guest whose demeanor was
becoming more and more eccentric. “As if
I didn’t know his knock!” he said, departing.

The afternoon waned; the shadows began to fall; John
Steele’s pulses now throbbed expectantly.
He called for a key to the gate and moved toward the
front door; by this time the darkness had deepened,
and, key in hand, he stepped out.

At first he walked toward the front on the gravel
that the servant might hear him, but near the entrance
he paused, hesitating, to look out. As he remained
thus, some one, who had been standing not far off,
drew near. This person steathily passed; in doing
so he glanced around; but John Steele felt uncertain
whether the fellow had or had not been able to distinguish
him in the gloom. John Steele waited, however,
until the other moved a short distance on; then he
retraced his own way quietly, keeping to the grass,
toward the house; near it he swerved and in the same
rapid manner stole around the place until he reached
the back wall.

There he examined his position, felt the top, then
placed his fingers on the wall. It was about
six feet high, but seizing hold, he was about to spring
into the air, when behind him, from the direction of
the Row, a low metallic sound caught his attention.
The front gate to the Forsythe house had suddenly
clicked; some one had entered,—­not the servant;
John Steele had seen him but a few moments before
in the kitchen; some one, then, who had quietly picked
the lock, as the surest way of getting in.